


The Luck-Piece

by tree_and_leaf



Category: Huntingtower (John Buchan)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, International Women's Day, scots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree_and_leaf/pseuds/tree_and_leaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phemie receives something to remind her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Luck-Piece

**Author's Note:**

  * For [El Staplador (elstaplador)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/gifts).



It was summer, and once again, Phemie Morran was feeding wicked wee Glasgow laddies. The Gorbals Diehards were asserting their independence from Mr McCunn’s paternal concern by camping at Dalquharter, but independence, though a fine thing, could not be compared to Auntie Phemie’s baking, and it was a rare morning that one or more of them did not happen to pass her cottage.

That morning, Wee Jaikie and Dougal were phlegmatically munching scones and honey, when there was a knock at the door. The postman.

“Parcel for you, mistress,” he said cheerfully. “From Australia. Have you family there?”

Phemie collected herself. “Aye, I’ve a married niece that went out there. That’ll be from her.”

“I thought ye didn’t ken anyone in Australia except the Princess?” said Wee Jaikie, after the postman had gone.

Dougal snorted. “Have ye no notion of discretion, man? She means the princess.”

“Aye, laddie,” said Phemie, absently, struggling with the little package. “Oh my!”

The parcel contained a brief note, and a jeweler’s box.

“Open it,” urged Dougal, but Phemie unfolded the note.

“Ach,” she said, “the silly lassie, I didn’t help her for a reward, but… aye, ‘something to mind me of her’, she says. That’s fine.”

She opened the box, revealing a delicate silver brooch, a wreath of leaves set with three opals.

“They’re awfie funny-looking jools,” said Dougal.

“They’re opals,” said Jaikie. “They come from Australia, mostly.”

“Aye,” said Phemie. “They used to say they were bad luck, but I always thought they were bonny.”

“It’s a shame the Princess lost all her treasure,” said Dougal, with an unexpected hint of wistfulness. “She could have sent you something from the crown jools then.”

Phemie choked with laughter. “Crown jools! As if she could give those away! As if she’d waste them on an auld wife! Can you see me at Dalquharter Kirk with the Russian crown jools?”

Dougal had a reasonably lively imagination, but honesty constrained him to admit that he could not.

“But – this? I can wear that of a Sunday, for best.”

“But what’ll you do if anyone spiers where you got it?” said Jaikie.

“I’ll tell them my niece and her man sent it me from Australia to mind me of them,” said Phemie, and added experimentally, “Aye, they had a bad time after the war, but her man Sandy’s a hard worker wi’ a wheen guid sense. I’m not troubled about them now.”

“Even if she isn’t your niece?” said Dougal. He had no objection to a good sound lie on tactical ground, but grown-ups – grown-ups like Auntie Phemie, anyway, were fussy about that sort of thing.

“The puir lassie needs all the family she can find, I’m thinking,” said Phemie. “Not but what Australia isn’t a grand country for the young and adventurous. No; I’m not troubled about the Princess. But I will keep the brooch, to mind me of her.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you needed minding,” said Jakie. Grown-ups were incomprehensible, sometimes.

Phemie smiled, and said nothing.


End file.
